Peace has died
by MetaLucario
Summary: He knew she was in love with her pet ghost. He would alow it. He approved of the choice, a rage-filled assasin suited her well. He just didn't like to share. DragonBorn/LucienL. implied DragonBorn/Faendal in the past past. Cicero/Karliah. Death torture and insanity await the dragon born, as her own life is taken away from her before her own eyes. Darkness rises when silence dies.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok I know I am supposed to be updating Creation of a New World, but the plot for that one is still in development and a_ very_ persistent plot bunny attacked me all week. So as a filler I guessed I should write this and get out with this idea. Probably a one shot, maybe two-I don't really know at this current point, I'm hoping for at least ten good reviews and maybe some flames. One more thing, if you don't like my ideas or the way that I write them then do not read them. If I get a detail of too far point it out. If my story sucks then tell me exactly where I went wrong, simply telling me that you don't like my ideas will get you nowhere, and hateful postings only show your own ignorance. Seriously don't. As usual I only own the plot and the oc. Anything recognizable belongs to Bethesda, or another company. May include fragments of song lyrics-some my own- but this is not a song fic. The songs are mostly DB, or bards singing, most are from the game, two are my own one next chapter. If I post one. Other than that have fun, be creative with the comments, and tell me the strong parts, the weak links, why you do/don't like the story, and enjoy. XD

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"Ooh listener, let's kill someone!" the exited little man was skipping avidly, clearly in a pleasant mood: for now.

"I agree with Cicero, Kurayami. Perhaps we should find a random stranger to murder, practice does make perfect…" the third figure walking along offered nothing but a silent pause. "my listener-?" the ghost continued, only to find her finger pressed to her lips, face completely blank, body stiff as a board. "What is it?" he was whispering now; his face was pressed closer to her ear.

"I thought I saw something is all. Probably a traveler." He was not convinced. The poor girl had been on edge all day. Something _was_ wrong, but she was not about to divulge just what _that_ was. That only meant one thing; she had no idea what was amiss, only that it was. He wouldn't press it then. He had full faith in her abilities- she was chosen by Sithis himself after all, and by the void he would protect her agency as long as he could.

"Come listener, we're almost to town," his voice was soothing, calm. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and the little jester did the same.

"Alright, we should be safe then." She sounded more as though she was trying to convince herself than them, but they headed down the slope in a huddle. The guards didn't even blink at the sight of the trio bursting through the gate and into the city of Whiterun. They knew better than to mess with the affairs of the Dark Brotherhood.

The figure wandered unseen by the trio further down along the pathway, slinking through the forest of rock and grass, hiding in crevices while his deep black armor hid him from sight. As he came closer behind he could hear the short one squealing about something. The ghost calmed him by turning to the last of their little party, telling the girl-the _listener_ as he called her- they _should_ go kill someone. _Listener, what have you been doing you insolent brat. Has the hero fallen so far already _he continued to follow, _what is the dovahkiin doing planning murders anyway? Is this where she has been all along? Foolish joore, she cannot run forever. _He let out a small chuckle; greatly amused by the state of her soul- already she was aware of something amiss. Clearly, she was well used to sneaking about. He slipped silently behind a rock outcropping as she scanned the landscape. He knew of her destination already, and would await her arrival there.

"It's alright Lucy, you two are free to terrorize the village; jut leave Dragon's reach alone, and do not hurt Brenuin. The poor old beggar owes me a favor or two that I plan to collect later." He watched them converse silently by the door, the jester pacing about anxiously while her and her spectre argued silently.

"Alright." The undead man agreed, appearing reluctant as he led the jester back out onto the streets. Finally, both of them were gone, whoever they were. He watched her cross the floor of the desolated inn, triumphantly smirking at the dead bard in the corner.

"Hulda, its me. I use my normal room and leave your payment on the counter alright," she walked to the corner with the bard, "this mess is still lying here? On second though I'll help clean first."

You really didn't need to put that arrow through his face you know. He may have been troublesome but that was to much. Leave him, he should be buried by family, so there he will wait until they come…well he can't really stay there, can he" She looked into the next room. "Saadia dear come help your friend with the body."

"About time, any longer and the guards would've become suspicious about the smell." They hefted him out into the river, unseen in the dark. As they walked back in Hulda poured each a bottle of warm mead, then tucked in for the night.

Eventually Saadia retired as well, and the dragonborn was left sitting in the selfsame chair where a very proud nord woman haunted regularly, before the incident. Uthgerd was killed long ago in a bandit raid: however, her chair was left mostly unused. The figure crouching over the banister continued to watch the young elf as she pulled out a quill, ink, charcoal, and a wad of parchment. She sat inscribing on a sheet of the thick paper in such a beautiful script that only an elf would recognize a word of it. As she wrote a softly depressed poem in about some unknown factor of her life she slowly poured a beautiful working of the same language out through her mouth, a light lilt catching the clear soprano of her voice. Slowing down the tune for a second she switched back to the common Nordic language and proceeded with what was presumably the same song. She began to add scrollwork designs to the bottom, all the while letting her voice roll softly through the air.

"and life is cruel, love is pain,

When the one you want you cannot have

And your life has become a game

To forces unseen who madly laugh at sorrows gain,

The world is changing,

Life will never be the same,

When love is for the so long dead,

They may never rise again."

Therefore, the song continued in a similar fashion, trudging, gliding, and leaping through dozens upon dozens of languages. The aldmeri tongue, wooden elvish, the language of Morrowind, orcish, ancient falmer, the native meowling of the kajit, dwarvish, the argonians tongue, ancient forgotten languages from other continents, and finally the tongue of the dovah. Clearly, she had been writing the selfsame song, for as she completed a sketch of a thorned flower she stopped. She reverted to the common tongue once more, and sang a new song, as she pulled out a new paper, this time sketching a very life like portrait of a young man, most likely a nord or a breton if his pallor was anything to go by. A sort of strait nose was added, shaggy hair, a hood. His eyes had an almost-glow. It appeared to be the ghost from earlier. The one she had called _Lucy. _He read as she labeled it in a flowing elvish script: _to Lucien. Sorry Luce, I should never have yelled at you earlier today, you were right those bandits could have ended me. _And she finally got up to walk to her room, chanting brightly, "oh there once was a hero named ragnar the red who came riding tho whiterun from old rorikstead-"

A softly padded landing got her attention. "That was quite an intriguing song earlier, how did you learn quite that many languages?"

"Do you really want to know, or are you just trying to lower my guard?" her voice was low, menacing, nowhere near the same musical tone of her song.

"Merely curious." He examined the dark leather that hid most of her face and the small pinpricks of light were her eyes were located. He leaned casually against the wall, watching every breath. She examined him right back, calculating.

"Being arch mage of a collage does give one access to more than a few rare books." She answered him rather impassively. She was not intimidated in the slightest.

"You're in love with that ghost." He indicated the picture on the table coolly, not missing a beat.

"And what does it matter? Last I checked my business was my own." She eyed his mask suspiciously, aware of whom it belonged to before and wondering how it had gotten lost, but maintaining a very blank expression. "And wouldn't divulge any secrets to a man in a dragon priest's mask. Really, I would have gone with krosis if I was you, vokun doesn't seem to fitting to wear." She indicated the dent she'd made near the left eye when she killed the afore mentioned priest.

"Killing bards doesn't fit a voice as well trained as yours. The way you sang those words, I would've believed that you were one their number yourself. Or do you simply have something against nordic bards?"

She stiffened up, eying the man(if he was even that) before her warily. Something was definitely amiss,. "How much do you know then? Tell me and no one gets hurt" she leveled a smooth black dagger at his chest.

"Threats now? What has the little _Saviik _gotten into? As well-crafted as that dagger is, no good will come from using it on me. You did a very interesting job on it though did you not; look at that, elven scrollwork on a daedric weapon, and what is the perfect little dovahkiin doing with a soul-trap enchantment?" He pulled off her mask after examining the dagger. "It reeks of oblivion. How many of the Vul-demons do you serve?"

"As many as I feel like serving, and some more than others." She twirled the staffs at her waist idly: a rose on one side, and screaming faces on the other. Both twirled on either side of her body.

"Of course. Sheogarath is a patron to artists. That information is hardly shocking. The question of your sanity is clearly debatable. But Sanguine? Drinking, pranks, bar brawls… surely the great joore hero is above all that." His tone was dry yet amused, his criticism carefully hidden behind a mask of sarcasm, yet still clear enough to be read.

"Yours would as well if you were in my position instead of yours, world-eater." She said it with the calm grace of one who knew their position, didn't care, and did not have enough of her sanity left to be questioned after anyway. "I don't understand why you're here, why you're suddenly interested in my life, or how you managed to gain that form. Frankly I don't care either, but I know your presence is unwanted." She reached over the table, grabbed a sweet roll, and bit into it as she bound lightly up the stairwell.

"You already know it will take more than that to deter me Kurayami." He spoke from the other side of the room, already up the stairs before she took the first step. She simply nibbled the last bite of the small cake-like object, and sat in a chair. While grabbing a Blackbriar reserve bottle from her bag, taking a small sip only to grimace at the taste, she pulled her leg up under her for comfort. He proceeded to yank her mask off the rest of the way, not yet done in his thorough examination, only too dodge a mace, a very strongly scented mace, one that smelled strongly of oblivion and of a certain will to dominate."Molag Bal? Really, do you need to have the favor of all the _princes,_ or are you trying to make up for something?_" _he finished unlatching the mask after pinning her expertly to the floor by his elbows. She looked so different from last time he saw her face. Ever since Helgen she seemed to always have her face covered by something, as though hiding her identity. Knowing her she probably was, but she had yet to hide from him, she emitted a very powerful, very distinct aura. He took in her deathly pallor, he had been unsure of it last time; her face had been extensively coated in dirt from the chopping block and the carriage ride. He remembered smugly the terror in her violet eyes as the headsman fell to his thu'um, the determination reflected in them as she discovered her new chance at survival, the exhilaration as she ran. He remembered the way she had broken the binding against the rock, how she punch the well -clad nord that had shouted at him unsuccessfully. She had run off with the red-clad warrior, to blood colored heads running off to the keep. Very hard to miss the bright color of her hair amongst all the pale blonde and ruddy brown heads. Not. "Look at me elf." He ignored the punch to his gut, aware that her strength would have been deadly, if he was anyone else that is. As for him, he did not feel pain, did not suffer injury. She barely flinched at the rebound of her own force, her knuckles were bleeding, but she did not care. He gripped her face tightly forcing her gaze onto him. Not a drop or ounce of emotion appeared in those cold purple orbs, he knew there never would be again either once he was done here. "You remember don't you, the deal we made last year in frostfall. Stay still and this wont hurt. She didn't care, simply glared and slid another dagger out of her boot and point it, not at him, but at her own chest. He knocked it out of her hand, exactly as she wanted him to. In his split-second of distraction, she gulped down the necessary air for her intentions. "_Fus Ro Dah," _he staggered off the floor, but a millisecond to late. "wuld nah kest!" she practically flew down the stairs and out the door. She sprinted to the gate leaving the city behind, not seeing the death her travelling companions left in their wake. Not seeing the undead love of her life stab Nazeem artfully from behind in a beatifull array of murder. She ran knowing he would find her any way. He always did somehow. She ran out the gates and right into the arms of the one she was running from. He had her in a powerful vice and she did not bother trying to escape him. She'd known all along it was futile. She heard a snap and the beating of massive wings, felt the ground beneath her sink down lower and lower. He still had her in a vice meaning that even his 'mortal' form had wings, and all of his powers were intact. She heard him chuckle as she instinctively leaned into a wind current she would never have ridden on by herself. "Krosis zaam, you lack a necessary piece of our kind's anatomy. Second-hand flight will have to suffice for now, dovahkiin." He sped up even more and she reveled in the feeling of the wind, letting him loosen his grasp enough to position her more comfortably. She couldn't help but relax as the ground soared off beneath them, putting herself in an even more dangerous position than before. She slowly nodded of in the grip of her sworn adversary, exactly what he wanted her to do. -

She woke up to the sight of a dragon priest, one she had not seen before, the only one she had not seen before. She could feel magic in this place, powerful magic. She turned to look not having a particularly hard time placing the portal in front of her. She was in Alduin's realm, bound in ropes, _being tended to by a dragon priest of all things, by Sithis and Nocturnal, and whoever else is out there that is to much. To the void and the oblivion realms with it all._ Just as she about to let out a particularly nasty swear in elvish the thing she'd been dreading ascended out of the portal. The massive dragon uttered a strange and unfamiliar shout, turning into the man he appeared as last night. The priest bowed low muttered something in the dovah language that sounded akin to drog-(master) but she was uncertain. The world-eater stalked up slowly, a smug pride glowing in his face. He watched her eyes, now forever devoid of any emotion. They say the eyes are windows to the soul, and of course, he would understand, he saw the looks in the eyes of the men, mer, and dovah whose souls he had taken before. He knew how to tell what someone was inside with a mere glance. He slipped easily into her mind greeting her with a simple question; "_sleep well zaam?"_ she looked up still blank faced. He placed a finger lightly on her temple, and she responded eagerly to the touch, helplessly fighting within herself. She looked into his eyes, all emotion wiped eternally from her face, and her reflection in his eyes more saturated than normally would be possible. Especially in those horrible gleaming rubies. They reflected nothing before, except right after he _'ate'. _She looked up at him again; her eyes still blank, empty and she felt the gaping hollowness taking over her inside. He returned her gaze easily. "That's right you belong entirely to me now, zaam. And you will never escape." He had the very thing that made her who she was. He had her soul.


	2. Chapter 2

Yup, back already. As usual I own absolutely nothing. R&R Kudasai(that's please in Japanese for those of you who don't know).

"Are you almost done yet?" All Uthgerd had done was challenge a skinny little bosmer to a simple bar brawl, and it landed her a job of protecting said elf's (apparently the dragonborn) rear end from trolls for hours on end. Now that that ordeal was over and done (thankfully), and they were seated calmly in some ratty little tavern in Riften. The nord was watching the elf as she downed her nineteenth cliff racer, ate her twentieth loaf of bread, and reached for her thirtieth sweet roll. "Really how large of an appetite can one woman have Kura?"

"As big of an appetite as it takes," the redhead smiled up from the plate in front of her, sticky glaze from the sweet roll coating her mouth, "and I think I deserve a meal fit for a giant after killing those stupid fur-wads. If I see one more troll in my life time my dagger may find its way into my stomach instead." her tone was light and humorous. She heard the sound of Uthgerd mutter something about people having worse manners than werewolves do, paid it no mind and ate yet another cream treat.

"I don't know how in oblivion you down all that junk and still way as much as a baby skeever!" the nord woman gazed down in a slightly annoyed, yet very amused way. As the dragonborn wiped her face off on a linen rag (gods know where in oblivion that came from), and straitened the light emerald sleeve of her fancy, expensive armor (how elves could feel safe in such thin apparel no one ever would know), Uthgerd happily headed for the door. This elf was one of the oddest people in all Tamriel, that was for certain. "Are we heading out?"

"Not just yet, you need to eat still." The elf looked up expectantly, violet eyes peeking warily out of her helmet.

"Already did, now can we please leave?" She eyed the other residents warily, any of them could be some thieves' guild initiate looking for a full pocket.

"Alright, we can leave." she turned to face a redheaded nord man who stood calmly in the back corner, casually leaning against the wall in an imperious manner, "I just need to speak with him really fast. Hey Brynjolf!" As she ran off to talk to then man, Uthgerd stiffened. That was the same man some woman told her was rumored to be a higher up in the thieves' guild. She watched him warily, eying every movement. Kurayami seemed _very _familiar with the man; he was clearly an old friend of hers. _Wait just one minute he called her his boss! So first, she's dragonborn and now leader of that rotten horde of skeever feed! Why am I not surprised? -_

Kurayami was running now, harder than ever. They were out numbered. Uthgerd was down, Vigilance badly injured, and both on the far end of the room. Tripping over a dead bandit, she charged the camp's chief in a fit of rage, and plunging her knife into his flesh she watched the light fade from his eyes. She fell down onto her knees, wailing with alarm as Uthgerd reached up.

"You did all you could, don't beat yourself up over me alright." she issued a series of cries akin to 'no Uthgerd', and 'please stay with me, you're my only friend. Uthgerd merely looked up and said, "Go show the world what you're made of Kura, do me proud and slaughter those forsworn milk drinkers before you kick the bucket alright." That was Uthgerd. Pure nord humor down to her last. "I don't fear the end; I'll live on in Sovngarde. One more favor for your friend please, don't hold on to the past, but keep me in your memory, please. And go follow your dreams, just because some milk drinking fool told you that bards are nothing more than _cowards making fame off of other's trials…" _She never managed to finish that sentence, she was to busy heaving up her own blood. That was the last sound she ever made, the last drawn out cough that was so violent the dead bandit by her body awoke. The orc looked at the dragon born with such smug hatred that she backed away, flinching.

"It's your entire fault you know, you brought her here, and you slowed down"

"No no nonononononononono!" she backed up even further, only to find the way blocked by the rest of the bandits. To her horror Uthgerd got up as well, chanting the word 'your fault, your fault, I hope you rot in oblivion forever'. -

"Kurayami….KURAYAMI!" She sat up instantly. Lydia was there. She was safe. Uthgerd didn't hate her. No undead bandits. She relaxed her forehead against the headboard, the cool wood soothing to her racing mind.

"Forgive me my thane but someone asked to come see you." _Lydia…_faithful as a war dog, but all the tact and timing of a frost troll.

"I'll be down in a minute." She sat trying to calm her racing heart. Once she gathered her bearings she grabbed a sweet roll off of her nightstand, crammed it down her face, and slipped into a her newest armor. Astrid wasn't here to yell at the new listener for flaunting her illegal side job at the moment anyway. She grabbed an ebony dagger of her dresser, cursing and then catching a splinter in the wood, right in her thumb. The stream of obscenities after was the exact opposite of flattering. When she finished ranting at the mini stick in her thumb about murdering all it 'offspring' and watching it rot in the void forever, she finally pulled the accursed thing out hastily with her nail. She jammed on her glove and sprinted down to her staircase, composing herself at the last moment before she descended. Lydia was already tending the man's plate, prepared for a Kura sized appetite. This man was very unfamiliar, Kurayami was very certain she had never seen him in her life, and her suspicious nature had her examining him very thoroughly, looking for weak points and possible advantages. Satisfied she padded down the last two stairs, unnoticed. She cleared her throat loudly enough to alert the two others of her presence. The man turned calmly while Lydia jumped three feet in the air. Suppressing a chuckle, the dragonborn stalked quietly up to the cooking spit, gave the contents an experimental sniff, and grabbed some salt and a Luna moth wing from the kitchen, proceeding to add them into the pot. She then winked at Lydia and set the contents onto a platter, which she then set calmly on the table, checking the vase for even the smallest of cracks as she did. "Thank you Lydia, can you go eat your share upstairs while we talk?"

'Of course my thane." Any frustration at being left out once again was squashed when she saw the elf's hand waiting readily next to her ebony dagger. She was expected to watch quietly with a bow drawn in case the man tried something. Lydia was willing to endure many things, but an extraordinarily paranoid dragonborn definitely was not one she could take for much longer.

"I was told to come to you if I was seeking help." the man's voice was soothing, deep. "I figure /I need it now more than ever.

"What in all the planes of oblivion is it now? Is there one person in all mundus, oblivion, the void or wherever else who doesn't need something from me? All I ever hear is 'help my daughter was taken by forsworn', or 'those giants need to be taken care of' or 'go kill these vampires'. Fine out with it. What in the void could you possibly want from me?" Her voice was dry yet cold.

The man looked taken aback, but only a by a little. He looked her calmly in the eye, leaning down to reach her level. "My son, he was taken by bandits. Are you really cold hearted enough to sit hear not caring?"

"You look strong enough to kill bandits your self, why would you possibly need my help?" She clearly wasn't in the best of moods today.

"Did I mention that there's money involved?"

"How much? I doubt you're willing to spare enough coin to appease my desire to help." _Calm, cool headed, and __**greedy**__, not the mal saviik I was expecting. _The 'man' shook his head in amusement. _What happened to the brave little fighter from Helgen? _He chuckled lightly as she drew out a dagger.

"And what, may I ask do you possibly find amusing?"

"Just the fact that your dagger is not as sharp as it should feel"

"It is not necessary to point the blade at you, I woundn't kill someone in _my _house. Do you know how hard it is to clean blood stains out of a wooden floor?"

"You speak as though you've had experience. Should I be alarmed that you were hurting yourself intentionally?" There it was, his magic trump card.

She stiffened. "How-"

"Did I find out?" he finished. "well its just a guess, but it could be the fact that you have a series of cuts all down that wrist." She jerked her sleeve down, glaring poisoned arrows at him. "So are you going to aid me or not, it could hurt your reputation if you decline." He smirked triumphantly, but she wasn't about to change her mind. Raising a short sword in one hand, and breathing in deeply for a shout she stepped forward, but to slowly. Her hand was held in a tight grip, and her head tipped up as her unrelenting force left her mouth crashing the stairs instead.

Lydia just stared. "You should go Kura, it might be healthy for you to go be useful somewhere any way." She rubbed the bridge of her nose in an annoyed fashion before her quest of finding a safe way down. The nord woman still was not accustomed to the thane's bothersome habit of destroying her own house, or accidentally hurting other people. All because she couldn't shut her mouth once, she started to say anything in that horrible language. Really, they should've known better and assigned someone with more patience instead, she simply hated her job.

"Stupid housecarls…"

"Kura you're the one who attacked him. Apologize now!" the strict motherly tone in Lydia's voice had no effect. The elf was still glaring at the man, who was currently leaning calmly against the wall.

"Fine I'll help, but by sithis this had better be worth my time." The man let go once he was certain she wasn't about to stab him through the head, and held open the door which she proceeded to stomp through gladly. She trudged along after him all the way out the gate, not even flinching as she easily cleared out a giant camp that happen to _so conviently_be right along on the pathway to wherever in oblivion they were going. She slipped into the bandits' camp easily, knocked of the first two-dozen of the stupid vagabonds with series of well aimed bow shots, and had barely notched a third arrow when the last one bound out the door like the fool he clearly was. He grunted as he fell, dead as the body next to him. Clearly, they never learned. She headed onto the inner chamber only to find that same man, (the one that she was supposedly helping) locking the door behind him, no prisoners, and no other way out. She wasn't even shocked. One got used to this scenario after the umpteenth time. She charged at him desperately, great sword held up and poised gracefully for the killing blow. Next came the unexpected. He shouted, a very familiar shout that was annoying enough from those stupid draugr death lords, but really infuriating now. She knew better than to pull out a new weapon, or bother to pick it up. Instead, she lit up her hands with the beginning of an ice spike, but was stopped by the sound of another familiar shout.

"_Wuld Nah Kest" _He was there behind before she could blink. She couldn't put up a fight in the time she was allotted before her arms were locked in a vice at her back, and she was roughly shoved into a corner. She kicked out, already knowing what would happen. He stood entirely unhurt and she had a broken toe. She knew his voice sounded familiar, but his face was unrecognizable. Red eyes were normal in tamriel, she'd thought he was part dark elf at first because of that particular feature but now she knew better and would not let herself live that down. If she lived to remember that. " Is that any way to teat your own kind, dovahkiin?" That cleared any doubt of who this was, and instantly calmed her. For reasons she never understand she always felt more comfortable with dragons than people, even when they made it their new priority to enslave her to their will or still her soul. Nothing more comforting than the 'almighty apocalypse' himself, smug little smirk on his face as he mocked your title, held you captive, and most likely just broke your arm for you. Yep this day was simply amazing. Not. Kurayami looked ahead steeling herself for whatever slow, excruciating, gory end was coming her way, surprised to find a hand wielding a restoration spell, and not an angry world-eater about to shout her to pieces.

"Promise to cooperate?" he had the higher ground, and the upper hand, and he was definitely utilizing it. Seeing no other option she nodded lightly, overcome by a sudden dizziness. The healing spell took away the pains and aches, but the dizzy nausea, and sudden fatigue remained. She felt something placed gently into each of her hands, and found that it happened to be a stamina potion, and a sweet roll. Great, her biggest weakness was known. Chances were he'd taken advantage of that knowledge. She downed both knowing she'd pass out soon if she refused. She then laid back against the wall awaking the relief from the green liquid. Now she was completely helpless, and awake enough to realize it. She peered up at her captor, waiting, for sithis knows what. All she got was a rude awakening. That sweet roll had sleeping tree sap in it. She was already being drugged!


End file.
